Quotes About Sensory

In the silence that came between them, a breeze from a ventilator could be heard fingering the blinds.

His left hand felt the sphincter

She saw and yet did not see the evening's banked colors across meadow and river. She heard and yet did not hear the

If you rely only on your eyes, your other senses weaken." It was a Bene Gesserit axiom.

How easy it is to follow our thoughts instead of our senses

I ought to be able to invent words capable of blowing the odor of corpses in a direction other than straight into mine and the reader's face.

I sink into your eyes whenever I'm looking at you. and feel your eyes on me whenever I'm walking around the room and all the time I am aware, with a pride I can no longer contain, that I am living for you, that I am allowed to do so ......

Your letters arrived today together, at noon, they aren't there to be read, but to be unfolded, to rest one's face on while losing one's mind.

Acaso era un animal, que la música tanto le impresionaba?

Rolar infinitamente, os olhos fechados oferecendo-se a não sei que olhar aberto.

They embraced one another, her little body burned in K.'s hands, they rolled, in a semi-conscious state from which K. tried constantly but unsuccessfully to surface, a little way on, bumped into Klamm's door with a hollow thud, then lay there in the puddles of beer and the rubbish

I have to disagree with William Shakespeare: love doesn't look with the mind. For me, and most of those around me, love looks with the tummy.

My father took me to see Hank Williams on December 14th, 1952. I was two years and four months of age. And I remember a little cool eddy of hair hitting my cheek, and I remember the smell of his hair oil, and I remember the mingling tonality of the small talk before the show started. Those are my memories.

When I write about a 15-year old, I jump, I return to the days when I was that age. It's like a time machine. I can remember everything. I can feel the wind. I can smell the air. Very actually. Very vividly.

The sheer sensory experience of San Francisco is unlike anywhere else. Not just the physical beauty, but the textures, the feel, the wind, the ocean. It's a monumental feeling unrivaled by anywhere else. Its a world class, gorgeous city. And the coffee is great.

I visited Notre Dame at 11 in the morning and the sun was entering through the south rose window, it was so impressive. This is when architecture can be king and give people sensations, like music.

Obviously you're looking out the window and you're seeing Earth and that's moving and then you're in a spacecraft now that can move on all axes while you're floating inside it and I think, for some people, maybe the combination of all three is a little bit of a sensory overload.

Language is wine upon the lips.

All four elements were happening in equal measure - the cuisine, the wine, the service, and the overall ambience. It taught me that dining could happen at a spiritual level.

We are delightfully trapped by our memories. I can't drink a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape Vieux Telegraphe without revisiting a hotel bistro in Luzerne, Switzerland, where I ate a large bowl of a peppery Basque baby goat stew. A sip and a bite. A bite and sip. Goose bumps come with the divine conjunction of food and wine.

To take wine into our mouths is to savor a droplet of the river of human history.

When I put my nose in a glass, it's like tunnel vision. I move into another world, where everything around me is just gone, and every bit of mental energy is focused on that wine.

Wine is something to enjoy. We get sick and tired of people who pick it apart and talk about its 'saucy nuances.'

Flowers die and wine gets consumed. Both are lovely. I appreciate both. Wine and roses. I actually had someone bring me a lobe of foie gras once.